


We Might Be Exactly Like We Were

by punto_y_coma



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blind Date, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, M/M, One Shot, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punto_y_coma/pseuds/punto_y_coma
Summary: A newly out divorcé, also forty-something, sounded like a middle-age-crisis-fueled disaster waiting to happen but Richie had never been able to walk away from a cheap thrill and he had a good feeling about this Edward Kaspbrak.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 164





	We Might Be Exactly Like We Were

**Author's Note:**

> Blind date AU, because I'm trash (but I'm right).  
I hope you like it!

> _When it came to it, no one had stayed in Derry. The awful sense of impending doom wasn't enough to stop Mike, or Stan, or even Bill from leaving. Ben and Beverly were long gone. Like every twenty-seven years, the trail of blood went largely unnoticed by the outside world. Though, somehow, this time, when it was over, it was truly over. The curse was finally broken but the Losers were still spread out across the country. They wouldn't regain their memories, not all of them, not all at once. But the universe has cunning ways to make things right..._

"Fucking unbelievable," Richie mumbled as he tried to tame his hair into something a little more presentable, a little less wild. It had been ages since he had gone out on a proper date (it was debatable whether this could be considered a proper one, since it was a blind date). One night stands were a little more common for him and he would have gladly ignored the overwhelming loneliness that followed but he was forty now and it was getting a little pathetic. So he shaved, put a button down shirt on (no prints, like a real adult, a gift that still had the tags on) and walked, umbrella in hand, to the café where they were supposed to meet.

Everything had been set up by his publicist, Anna. Apparently, the guy in question had told her his sad life story during meetings to settle her insurance or something of the like. A newly out divorcé, also forty-something, sounded like a middle-age-crisis-fueled disaster waiting to happen but Richie had never been able to walk away from a cheap thrill, and he kind of trusted his publicist's judgement. She had been able to spin him from promiscuous-disaster-dudebro into chaotic-yet-adorable-bicon, somehow, and he owed her.

She had described Edward Kaspbrak as short, black haired, very prim and with a kind face (whatever the fuck that meant). What she had failed to mention was how cute (was that the right word for a forty-one year old?) he was. Richie recognized him as soon as he saw him: big brown eyes, restless leg syndrome, wearing the entire Dad catalog from the Gap. Adorable.

"Edward?" he asked, hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking.

The guy turned and stared, and Richie immediately understood what his publicist had meant by "kind face". Edward's face was lined from worries and smiles in a very particular way that made it lovable, trustworthy.

"That's me," he got up and offered his hand to Richie and waited for him to sit opposite. "Richard, right?"

"Richie, yes," he immediately winced, "or Rich, if that sounds too childish," he added self-consciously.

"Richie... Rich..." Edward tried the names on, squinting as he did, like he was testing how they tasted in his mouth. "I think you do look more like a Richie," he resolved.

"And you look more like an Eddie," Richie smirked.

"No one's called me that since high school," he mumbled. It felt right, though, what with Richie being some inches taller than him, stumbling around like a gentle giant. "Sure, Eddie's fine."

The waiter walked by and offered them menus.

"Eddie, Ed, Eds," Richie mumbled nervously as he browsed, dragging the s on the last one.

"Jesus, don't call me Eds!"

"Sorry," Richie bit his tongue. What did normal people ask on dates? "So, uh, Eddie, I hear you're like a real businessman with an actual job?"

"Yeah, I'm a risk analyst," Eddie scratched the side of his face. "It's, uh, difficult to explain but basically it's just coming up with statistics for dumb ways to die."

"Grim," Richie said, scrunching his face.

"Yeah," Eddie chuckled nervously. "It's good, well, I'm good at it, anyway. But I'm not a psycho or anything..."

"Ready to order?" the waiter took out his notepad.

"Yeah, I'll have the chocolate cake and a black coffee, please," Richie said.

"I'll have the carrot cake... Wait, are there nuts in it? Then, scratch that. The scones... Are those gluten free? It doesn't say, so... No, okay. Uh, just a latte then, with soy milk. Decaf, please," Eddie gave a tight lipped smile to the waiter and looked back at Richie, who was pursing his lips like he was trying to contain a chuckle. "I have allergies," he explained.

"Okie-doke," Richie said, amused and a little endeared.

"So you're, uh, you're a comedian?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, stand up. I used to go by Trashmouth Tozier," Richie moved awkwardly in his seat.

"Oh, yeah!" there was a glint of recognition in Eddie's eyes. "I think I saw one of your shows two or three years ago..."

"I didn't write my material back then," he looked a little embarrassed. "It was a lot of fuckboy shit, to be honest."

Eddie seemed to ponder whether or not to step over some boundary. "Uh, is it okay to say that I didn't find it funny then?"

"Fuck you!" Richie cackled.

"I only mean," Eddie raised his hands amicably, "that it didn't feel authentic."

"No, that's fair," Richie admitted and then winced. "Shit! I told Anna that I was going to behave and I've said 'fuck' before they even brought our order."

"It's fine," Eddie looked a little more relaxed. "She seems to like you."

"She's alright," Richie shrugged as the waiter gave them their coffees and his chocolate cake with ice cream on the side. "I didn't know anybody in New York so she's had to put up with me these past few months. I feel like she thinks of me as her eccentric uncle or her spinster aunt or something."

Eddie chuckled at that, and Richie loved the sound. He had fallen into comedy by chance, he had all the usual requirements: a mouth with a mind of its own, no sense of shame, and a pathological need to entertain. What he had been missing was some sense of purpose; he felt he caught a glimpse of it in Eddie's smile.

"When did you move?" Eddie asked.

"Last summer," Richie poured way too much sugar in his coffee and then stirred it noisily. "It's weird. After living there for years, I realized that I hated LA? Does that make sense? One day, it just hit me that I'm not one of the beautiful people," he then took a forkful of chocolate cake and hummed appreciatively.

Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to say something in response to that last sentence, but his eyes wandered from Richie's hair to his broad shoulders and his hands... And he seemed to lose his train of thought.

"Uh, no, it makes sense," Eddie took a sip of his latte. "Maybe it's just hitting forty? The same thing happened to me, with my ex-wife. We'd been together since college and one day just..." he snapped his fingers.

"You killed her?!"

"No! Why would I-?" he caught Richie's smirk and realized he was being messed with. "You _idiot_," there was a fondness to it as he said it, a familiarity, something bright and bubbly that Richie wanted to keep close. He also decided he liked this side of Eddie better, he didn't like it when he had to watch his words and walk carefully around egos; he was more of a poker of egos, really. More than anything, he wanted someone to bicker with, someone he'd still find interesting after they fucked.

"So, as a newly divorced twink, you've been dating a lot, Eds?"

"Just a bit," Eddie answered non-committally.

"Where do I fall in that pool of lucky guys? I want numbers," Richie asked, stupid as ever.

Eddie choked on his latte. "No way, dude," he shook his head emphatically. "Do you want this date to go wrong? Because I can leave right now and save us some time!"

"Eddie, Eddie, no!" Richie pleaded, reaching for him with grabby hands. "I promise it's not a trap or anything. Come on! It'll be fun" Richie said it in such a way that Eddie guessed that he wouldn't drop the subject.

"Fine! But I get your ice cream," he nodded towards the half-melted dollop of vanilla ice cream on Richie's plate.

"You sure?" Richie cocked his head curiously. "It probably has cow's milk and sugar and maybe even artificial flavoring."

"I'm sure, smartass," he even grabbed Richie's used spoon to eat it, just to prove that he could. Eddie had felt weird since before the divorce but this reckless, loose version of himself seemed to be only for Richie and, God help him, he liked it. "Okay, ask away."

"Rate my handsome face" Richie asked, batting his eyelashes behind his glasses and framing his face with both hands. Ridiculous. (Adorable.)

Eddie took his time, sinking his spoon into the ice cream and savoring it before he made any comments. He hadn't had vanilla ice cream (the real kind, not the dairy free, organic crap Myra bought) in years. He touched the spoon to his lips as he studied Richie, his long fingers and sharp jaw, his goofy smile and his disastrous hair.

"I would say you're a seven point five," he declared with a smirk.

"Ouch, Eds!"

"Seven, now that you've called me that."

"Okay, but I'm funny," Richie started listing, "financially stable, almost famous, I work out..."

"No, you don't!" Eddie giggled. He couldn't really tell through his loose-fitting shirt but winding Richie up seemed the most natural response.

"Touch my fucking bicep, Kaspbrak!" Richie flexed and Eddie kept on giggling.

"I'm not doing that!"

"Then beat me at arm wrestling! Come on!"

"You're unbelievable," Eddie said, a little admiration in his tone, despite himself. "Fine! Let's do this," he placed his elbow on the table reaching across from him. Eddie felt the flutter of butterflies in the mouth of his stomach. Richie grabbed his hand and their eyes met as they struggled, laughing a little too loud for the nice café they were at. Richie beat him, spilling some of their coffee and making a sugar container shatter on the floor.

"They're going to kick us out!" Eddie wiped the spilled coffee frantically with a bunch of paper napkins. Richie just smiled and stared.

"Anything I can do for you, gentlemen?" the waiter asked, passive-aggressively, eyeing the pieces of glass at his feet.

"Yeah, the check, please," Richie replied simply.

They lingered at the entrance of the café, their date cut short, and both of them curious as to why it felt so right to be in each other's company. Still, neither made a move, save for nervous looks and small attempts to keep themselves covered from the rain.

"Well, Eddie," Richie said, finally, "I would love to see you again, if that's alright..."

"Funnily enough," Eddie moved towards Richie, "I think I'd like that."

They drifted closer, as if bound by a different gravitational field, one of their own. Still, the spell was broken when a taxi drove by them, fast, soaking them in water from a puddle on the street.

"Asshole!" Eddie howled after the taxi driver. "Did you get his plates?"

"Um, no, sorry," Richie turned, his glasses covered with water and grime. "What would you do with them anyway? Sue him? It's just water, Eds," he wiped his face with his shirt sleeve.

"Jesus fucking Christ! New York puddles are practically grey water! My mouth was open!"

"Right, uh, my place is a couple of blocks away... If you want a change of clothes or a shower," Richie offered.

"That would be nice, thank you," Eddie smiled softly. He looked rather fragile, all soaked, the burst of anger fading away slowly and leaving just anxious desperation in its place.

Richie took Eddie's hand without thinking about it, trying to soothe him as they walked to his apartment.

"This is me," Richie opened the door and let Eddie in. He then rushed to the bedroom and emerged carrying a towel and some clothes. "This is the bathroom," he guided Eddie by the small of his back, "it takes a bit to warm up. Uh, clothes and a towel," he handed the pile to Eddie and, before he could ask he added: "Clean, Eds, I'm not an animal."

Eddie smiled with relief. "Thanks. Uh, yeah," he seemed at a loss of words for a moment. "I won't be long," he promised.

He did take a bit of time. First, a little while just to stay under the spray of warm water, trying to calm down, breathing in and out, his head held down. Then, some minutes to shampoo his hair until it was squeaky clean, and cover his body with soap and rinse it, twice. The towel and clothes felt like Richie looked, unrefined and loose but comfortable, the way that people said home should feel like. His eyes wandered around Richie's bathroom, bare but for the essentials; it could be minimalist but Eddie thought that was too intentioned and pretentious for Richie. He went out and padded in Richie's too big socks towards the light of the kitchen, holding his dirty clothes covered in the wet towel so that he wasn't touching them directly.

Richie was boiling water over the stove. "Hey! Feeling better, buddy?"

"Yes," Eddie sighed.

"You're looking less murderous," he smiled at the sight of Eddie in his sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt, both over-sized on him. "Give me those," Richie opened his hands to take the towel and clothes. "I needed to do my laundry anyway so..." He left for a moment and came back empty handed. "There's some hot water for tea if you want that or," he reached to open a cupboard, some bottles of liquor inside, "if you want something stronger..."

"Thanks. You should shower too, you'll catch a cold," there was genuine concern in Eddie's tone and it tugged at Richie's heartstrings. It had been too long since anyone outside from work had truly cared for him, not his career or his fame or his sexuality, just his well-being.

"Will do," Richie assured him. "Make yourself at home."

To fit with his mood, Eddie made himself a chamomile tea but poured some bourbon in it: a compromise. He carried the mug around as he explored Richie's apartment.

It was a bachelor pad; there was no way around it: expensive furniture and gadgets, coexisting with old vinyls and scrunched up papers. Still, there was something odd about it. There were empty spaces here and there, which really shouldn't be such a big deal considering Richie had moved there recently, but they reminded Eddie of how Myra's place looked when he moved out, like there were pieces missing in the dust outlines. Ghost placeholders. Half-empty bookshelves and bare walls. Eddie had done a bit of research on Richie, and he hadn't read of any serious relationships in the tabloids but the thought of one still gave him pause. Then again, Eddie's apartment, though cleaner, of course, looked pretty much the same, like he was saving a seat for someone.

"You look cute when you're snooping."

Richie had sneaked up behind him, his mouth dangerously close to his ear.

"I wasn't snooping," Eddie argued without turning, trying to hide the shiver that went down his spine.

"Yeah, right. Come here, dumbass," Richie had moved to the couch, his long limbs an outstretched mess, leaving just enough space for Eddie to sit. And he did, primly, back upright, leaving his mug on the coffee table. After a moment's hesitation, Richie dragged him closer so that his arms were around him and Eddie's head rested on his chest.

"This okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Eddie sighed into the embrace, relaxing easily. Richie was warm from the shower; there was muscle memory in the way their limbs intertwined. "Sorry you had to see me like that," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Hmm?" Richie brushed his fingers up and down Eddie's arm. Weirdly, Eddie could tell that it was a you-want-to-talk-about-it?-hmm instead of a sorry-I-wasn't-paying-attention-hmm.

"I have, uh, issues with disease and germs and panicking if I get contaminated..." Eddie hesitated but something about Richie's touch was reassuring. "It's not something I usually bring up on the first date, you know."

"I get that. We've all got shit like that..." Richie cleared his throat. "Mine's anxiety. I mean sweating buckets, breathing into paper bags, throwing up... The whole fuckstorm. Not glamorous at all."

"I wouldn't have guessed," Eddie said honestly. He found Richie's hand and intertwined their fingers. "You knew exactly what to do with me just now. Anyone in your family has something similar? Or a friend?"

"Not that I remember," Richie squinted in concentration. "Maybe back home? Dunno. I don't remember a lot of my childhood."

"Bad parents?"

"Yeah, drunken bastards," Richie shrugged. "You?"

"Yeah. My mom was... Overbearing."

"I'm sorry, Eds," Richie kissed the top of his head.

"It's not your fault," Eddie turned to look at him. His hair was damp and a tired smile was playing on his lips. He reached out to cup Richie's face, his thumb landing over his lower lip. "Why do I feel like I've known you forever?"

"Ew. Don't be fucking sappy," Richie said as he leaned over to kiss him.

It was slow, gentle, Richie's fingers tangled in Eddie's hair, Eddie's nose bumping into Richie's glasses. It tasted like a memory of summer, leisurely and warm, drying up in the sun after a swim, both of them reaching out to touch the other's skin, finally daring to cross that invisible line. Everything a first kiss should be.

They parted for a second, if only to look into each other's eyes, to try to catch a glimpse of the landscape they'd seen in their heads. They writhed and rearranged, horizontal, Richie under Eddie, their palms greedy and curious.

And they kissed again, reckless, quick, hungry. It was running away from the danger holding hands, throwing rocks across a river, laughing, and wrestling on the grass. Richie's hands on Eddie's bare back, Eddie's fingers tugging at Richie's shirt collar.

"Are we still up for that second date?" Richie asked against Eddie's lips.

"We are, Rich," Eddie replied, biting on Richie's lip, just a little, just enough to make him moan.

"Eddie," he said smiling, holding him tighter. It sounded an awful lot like ‘I love you’, like he'd said it a thousand times before, like no one had pronounced quite right until that moment. And, oh, Eddie wanted a lifetime of that, his name in Richie's lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love!  
You can talk to me at my tumblr (@aralisj) if you want <3


End file.
